


Endgame

by hutchabelle



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-14
Updated: 2013-09-14
Packaged: 2017-12-26 14:18:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/966916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hutchabelle/pseuds/hutchabelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Katniss thought Peeta was her endgame until he married someone else. How long will she wait for the man her body craves?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Endgame

I sit at my table, reading and sipping coffee on a lazy Saturday afternoon. It’s the fall semester of my freshman year of college and I’m in my favorite coffee shop for a few hours trying to get caught up on all the reading I have to do for my entry level English comp class. I’m a vocal performance major anyway so why do I have to do all this English crap?

A slight breeze ruffles the pages in my book, and I lift my head as a guy walks by. A faint hint of his cologne tickles my nose, and I release a quiet sneeze.

“Bless you,” he murmurs. 

Startled, I look up and see him smiling at me, his blue eyes crinkled at the corners.

“Uh…th-thanks?” I stutter, barely able to speak with his eyes surveying me so closely. I wrap my braid around my hand and bite my bottom lip. He’s exceptionally good-looking, broad shoulders, curly dark blonde hair, and straight white teeth in a crooked smile. His eyes are friendly and earnest with a hint of sweetness and shyness lurking in the cerulean depths. 

He nods to me and sinks into a chair a few tables away. “Welcome,” he mumbles before opening his book and taking a sip of his own coffee.

I try to return to my book, an autobiography of a Holocaust survivor, but I can’t concentrate. I find myself continually glancing at the man with the blue eyes. He seems completely at ease, his elbow resting lightly on the arm of the chair, his fingers turning page after page, as his brow furrows slightly in concentration at the words he’s reading.

He only glances up once when one of the workers brings him several croissants. He carefully places the bread on the table next to his coffee and continues reading.

Something about him calls to me. Something about the way he holds himself and the ease with which he breezes through the pages of his book demonstrates his easy confidence, his absolute contentment with his situation.

His long fingers caress the sides of the book and I allow myself to wonder what they’d feel like gliding along the sides of my breasts. He wets his lips and I imagine the tip of his tongue licking a trail down my neck and body until it eventually disappears inside me. I’m so turned on by this unassuming man that I want to climb into his lap and grind into him, feel his hot breath on my face and hear him pant as we work together into a frenzy.

I’m distracted from my reverie when the man with the bread pulls his cell phone from his pocket. I didn’t hear it ring, so it must be on vibrate, which threatens to send my mind into another realm of lustful thoughts.

I shake my head to clear it so I can listen to his conversation.

“Hi, honey,” he says in a deep voice.

Of course. Of course he’s with someone.

“I’m at Café Deseo. Finishing up my reading for this week and heading home.” His index finger runs in between two pages in his book and I can’t help but wonder what it would feel like inside me.

I’m jolted when he says, “I love you, too, baby,” and hangs up.

It’s just a few seconds later that he checks his phone again and smiles in such a way that I know his “honey” has sent him an invitation he can’t refuse. He doesn’t hesitate, simply grabs the bag of bread and positions it in front of him to hide his physical response to what I’m sure was a naked picture and rushes from the coffee shop.

I’m left with an ache so deep I can’t help fantasizing about him for days.

****

“Ooof!”

I’m running late, but I feel like I’ve slammed into a concrete wall. I just got out of my voice lesson and am trying to make it to my poetry class somewhat on time. I’m nearing the end of my junior year, and I’ll admit that “that English crap” has grown on me. I needed an upper level English class, so I decided to take poetry in hopes that it would help me write lyrics and contribute to my singing career. I’m failing miserably at it.

A strong pair of arms embrace me in an attempt to keep us both upright and I glance into the blue eyes that I last saw in a coffee shop over two years ago.

I gasp in surprise and release my breath in a puff. “Oh, hi!” I blurt at him, apparently not aware that he doesn’t know me at all whereas I’ve fantasized about us together in every way imaginable since I first saw him over two years ago.

He slides his hands to my upper arms to steady me and looks at me in confusion. “Uh, hi?” he returns.

Ducking my head slightly, I apologize, “I’m sorry. I know it seems crazy, but I remember running into you a couple of years ago at Café Deseo and here I am running into you again.”

“Oh… Yeah, I’m sorry I don’t remember you.” He extends his right hand to me and introduces himself, “I’m Peeta, Peeta Mellark. It’s nice to meet you.”

Peeta. The name is perfect. He is perfect. He’s only gotten better with age, still completely gorgeous and as nice as he was my freshman year.

Heat surges through me as he grips my hand, his fingers squeezing mine gently, the palm of his hand warming mine.

“I’m Katniss.” I manage to sputter, completely flustered by the surge of desire I still have for him.

He smiles a lazy smile and the corners of his eyes crinkle. “Well, Katniss, it’s nice to meet you, but I’m late for work.”

“Work?” I say, desperate for a way to keep him talking and not have him walk away.

He grins again, his eyes twinkling, and answers, “I’m a tutor for the writing lab on campus. It’s part of my fellowship for my graduate degree in English.”

I’m so eager I trip over my words as I tell him, “I’m failing poetry. I’m actually on my way there right now, but I’m horrible. Do you think maybe you could help me?”

He turns to walk to the writing lab and calls over his shoulder, “I’m sure I can. Make an appointment and I’ll help you out. See you soon, Katniss!”

****

Peeta ended up seeing a lot of me after that. I made an appointment at the writing lab and we laughed and giggled so much through it that we went for coffee afterward, something that became a standing event for us every week.

We celebrated my college graduation together and his first teaching job. We toasted the publication of his first volume of poetry and my first successful try-out. Our friendship grew and with it grew my uncontrollable desire for him.

It came as quite a shock when three years later he told me over an espresso that he’d proposed to his girlfriend of five years and she’d said yes. It wasn’t that I didn’t realize he was with her; I simply never thought he’d ever choose her over me. I thought he was my endgame.

I cried for days after that and called my sister Prim. She met me at my apartment with a pint of ice cream and lent me a comforting shoulder. With her support, I went to the wedding, but I spent the entire ceremony imagining spending his wedding night with him. His hands running over me, his lips on mine, his body between my legs, his hips thrusting against mine, his voice moaning my name, his last name mine.

He came home from his honeymoon tanned and glowing and I forced myself to put the thoughts of him with his wife out of my mind, but they didn’t stay buried for long. I dreamed about him at night. I could feel his body pressed against mine; I could feel his lips on mine even though it had yet to happen in reality. I still wanted him more than I’d ever wanted anyone else.

I tried dating other men. Peeta set me up with a few of his friends, but I think most of them realized I only had eyes for one man and that man was married to a woman I couldn’t stand. There wasn’t anything particularly wrong with her; I simply couldn’t comprehend how Peeta, the smartest, most passionate, kindest man I’d ever met couldn’t see that his wife seemed much more interested in what she wanted than what they wanted as a couple. She didn’t even seem to care about him enough to question our friendship. I hated that he was with her, but she didn’t appear bothered that he spent hours alone with me, a single woman who clearly found him attractive. At least it was clear to everyone but Peeta.

I remained silent when she berated him about his love for teaching since the financial reward didn’t allow for her to have the lifestyle she thought she deserved. I kept my mouth shut when she wanted to delay having the children Peeta craved so badly because she didn’t want the trouble of raising them. I waited at the hospital when she delivered their firstborn much earlier than she had planned. It took a decade, but Peeta began showing up for our coffee dates with sadness in his eyes and I knew things weren’t going well. Finally, Peeta was able to see that his wife wasn’t the woman he’d always thought she was. Ever loyal, Peeta defended his wife until there was no way to anymore.

Over the two decades I’d known Peeta, my vocal performance degree led me to balance a turbulent career with an extensive vocal studio in my home. I had a number of students, and the schedule allowed me to continue pursuing my own career while I supplemented my income teaching younger singers. My favorite was Peeta’s son, who I loved the same way I would have loved my own.

When Peeta’s son was 16, Peeta’s wife had finally had enough. The day she left him for another man, one of his best friends, he called me. His broken voice made me want to go after her and hurt her as badly as she’d hurt him.

And as horrible as it was, underneath it all, my body hummed. When I held him against me to comfort him, my legs trembled.

I swallowed my feelings and pressed my thighs together to calm myself. This was not the time.

****

Several months later, Peeta and I decide to celebrate his 44th birthday by cooking dinner together at my house. I tried to convince him to go out, but he didn’t want to run the risk of seeing his ex-wife out with her new boyfriend. She wasn’t trying to hide her new relationship. Peeta had run into them a few times and every time it sent him into a spiral of despair.

Peeta loves breakfast food, so we cook breakfast for dinner and laugh at my pathetic attempts to make cinnamon pancakes. After I ruin the first few, I give up and hand the spatula over to Peeta with the intention of frying some bacon instead. My breath hitches when Peeta’s fingers graze mine and I feel the familiar surge of lust I’ve harbored for this man for more than two decades.

Peeta continues flipping until the plate is full of fluffy pancakes and we sit to eat. That’s when I realize he hasn’t spoken for several minutes. Suddenly the silence stretches between us so uncomfortably, I can’t stand it. Sensing sadness, I curse his ex-wife silently for hurting him so much.

“Peeta,” I say, my voice soft, “Peeta, I’m so sorry about your wife.”

He raises his eyes to mine, the pain so deep I can see it spiraling in the gorgeous blue irises. His eyes are haunted.

“We were high school sweethearts,” he murmurs painfully. “We were supposed to be together forever. We have a son together. We have a history together. How could she leave me for him? He was one of my closest friends!”

I shake my head, indicating my own confusion. I will never understand how that woman wanted someone else over the man in front of me. He’s been everything I’ve wanted since I saw him during my freshman year of college.

“I don’t know, Peeta. I really don’t.”

The right side of his mouth raises in a soft smile, and he speaks softly, “Thank you, Katniss, for always being there. Some days are better than others, and I realize life goes on. You’ve made this one of those days.”

I rest my hand on his in appreciation of his quiet strength and an electric jolt passes between us. Shocked, I raise my eyes to his and see a new light burning where pain and confusion were the focus just seconds before. I can barely breathe as I look at him, decades of longing in my gaze.

“Katniss?” he whispers, confused by the charge between us but willing to recognize its truth.

I gulp and nod. “Yes,” I admit without him having to ask, “I’ve wanted you for an incredibly long time.”

His confusion gives way to flattery and I grow bolder as our gazes remain locked. His widen slightly as I raise my hand to the top button on my blouse and unbutton it. A second one shortly follows and then a third. Panting with anticipation, I stop and wait for Peeta to respond.

Timidly, he reaches his hand to the opening of my shirt and tucks his hand in to cup my left breast.

We moan together, me in long overdue gratification and him in relief from rejection. He leans toward me so slowly it’s as if he’s not moving, but his warm lips cover mine. He pulls back and gazes at me, a look of surprise on his face. Slowly, I stand and pull him with me, moving from the kitchen to the living room so we’re perched on the sofa. Time seems to stand still as we stare at each other.

Suddenly his hands are everywhere. Peeta’s mouth is on mine and his body has me trapped roughly against the arm of the couch. I wrap my legs around his waist and hold on as his mouth devours me. Peeta’s impatience would be scary if I wasn’t as much as or more impatient than him. I feel like I’ve been waiting half my life for him and I can’t rip my clothes from my body fast enough.

When we’re both stripped completely, his warm skin rubs gently against mine and I whimper at the intensity of our connection.

“Katniss…” he moans.

“Please. Please, Peeta!” I beg, as desperate for him today as I was over two decades ago in Café Deseo.

Peeta bites down on his lower lip and closes his eyes as he slides into me, his face collapsing into bliss as I tighten around him.

He’s no longer the man whose wife left him, the one who’s broken because she walked out on him. He’s Peeta, the strong, gorgeous, wickedly intelligent man I desperately wanted when he said “Bless you,” after I sneezed.

I can’t believe it’s his arms around me, his skin against mine as a sheen of sweat allows our bodies to slide together with little friction. He’s driving me closer and closer to my breaking point and I can’t get there fast enough at the same time I want it to last forever.

All the frustration I felt watching him with someone else, all the anger I possessed towards her for treating him poorly, all the longing I had for Peeta, all of them combine in a shameless release. I’m like a woman possessed.

“Harder, Peeta,” I say as my fingernails dig into his back. He grunts in pain, but I don’t release him. Instead, I catch his earlobe between my teeth and flip us over so I’m on top. I sit up and undulate on top of him, rocking faster and faster, trying desperately to get closer to him. My hips grind into his so hard I can feel his hips bones bruising my thighs, but it’s still not enough. At this moment, all I want is to make him forget everything, to have him focus solely on me in a state of licentious abandonment.

Something clicks in his eyes as he watches my face, my breasts bouncing as I slam into him repeatedly, lecherous words falling from my lips as I recount the things I’ve imagined doing to him for the last two decades. It seems he’s finally realized how my body has burned for him.

His eyes darken into midnight blue and he lifts me off him and flips me around so he can penetrate me from behind. I rear my head and arch my back at the delicious feeling of him filling me completely.

“Peeta!” I scream as I clamp down on him.

He pumps into me frantically and keens in my ear, “Yeah? You like that, Katniss? You like it when I’m pounding inside you?”

I can’t speak coherently. I moan and pant continually, mewling and begging for him to keep going.

We are a tangle of limbs, arms and legs locked together, his chest pressed against my back, holding me back against him as he slams into me. I can feel every inch of him, but his voice in my ear consumes me. Whimpers and pants and loud moans escape him as he expels his demons with every thrust and finds his release with me.

“Oh!” I cry and explode, my body tensing under him, my arms locking to push back harder against him.

All those years of waiting were worth it. All those nights I tortured myself wondering if he’d ever see me as more than a friend, all those days I pined for him and worried that he didn’t see me the same way I saw him, all of that disappears as Peeta moans my name again. He’s out of control, grunting and thrusting erratically. He shouts my name and pours into me. I turn my head to kiss him and see his mouth slack and his eyes rolled back in his head. With our lips pressed together, I empty myself, thrilled my yearnings have finally been fulfilled.

My arms give out and we collapse together on the couch, his sweaty chest pressed against my back, and try to come down from our high. Peeta cradles me and pulls me closer against him, clearly too undone to be able to form sentences. I remain quiet, basking in a two decade long reward.

After several minutes, I turn to him and press my lips to his. His returning grin makes my heart skip a beat. The softness in his eyes when he wraps my dark braid around his hand causes my heart to melt.

He drops a light kiss on the tip of my nose and then on each cheek before he speaks. “Katniss,” he murmurs.

“Hmm?” I return, too satiated to say more.

He gazes at me, his dazed expression similar to one who’s just woken up from a long nap and tries to figure out what’s happened during the slumber. “Katniss, I’ve watched you for years, been your friend, seen your career grow and change, celebrated with and your sister on holidays, and grieved the loss of your parents, but I didn’t realize until today how underneath everything was a longing this intense.”

Breathless, I search his eyes, desperate for answer I want. Hoping against hope, I ask, “Are you saying this is real?”

When he doesn’t answer, I add with a tremble in my voice, “Or is this not real?”

Peeta runs the tips of his fingers lightly over my right cheek and leans in to kiss me again. His lips caress mine fully before he pulls back and whispers, “It’s real.”


End file.
